


Escape

by hdarchive



Series: What I Need [15]
Category: Glee
Genre: BadBoy!Blaine, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Kurt needs is not what Blaine can give him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Because a verse just wouldn't be a verse without a playlist.... [I made one!](http://8tracks.com/holdingdaylight/what-i-need-verse) It'd mean a lot if you listened!

Life doesn’t get any easier, doesn’t become any less terrible.

It’s the same as every other time he’s gotten in trouble. He’ll never forget the week he got expelled from Dalton, when his mom would have screaming matches with his dad over the phone over who’s fault it was (and it was his, definitely his).

It’s just like that all over again, so he hates being home, he hates remembering that his last name is Anderson and that he’s nothing like his parents or even like his brother and that he never will be.

But he’s able to forget about all of that when he’s with Kurt, because then he’s just Blaine, and Kurt doesn’t expect anything more.

They go see a movie the next weekend, washing out the bad taste in their mouths that the previous weekend had left. Kurt holds his hand and leans into his side and when he drives Kurt home and kisses him goodnight outside his front door, his lips taste like salt and popcorn and the taste of last weekend is gone, forgotten.

He turns to leave, dreading home already, when Kurt calls out to him, “You’re coming over for brunch tomorrow, right?”

Turning back, he makes a face, nose scrunching up as he asks, “Brunch? People actually go on brunch dates?”

“Yes,” Kurt huffs, arms crossing. “People of class that is.”

He smirks. “Are you gonna serve tea?”

Kurt lifts his chin and turns away, says, “I was, but now you’ve ruined it.”

“Do I have to wear a nice shirt?”

Kurt doesn’t look his way as he mumbles, “I’d appreciate it if you did.”

He sighs loudly, pretends to think about it for a moment, then groans, “I guess I’ll be there.”

Kurt’s stance immediately drops, and he smiles at him. “Good. See you tomorrow.”

Something to look forward to. That’s all he needs. And that’s Kurt. Tomorrow doesn’t seem so bad if he knows Kurt will somehow be there, needing him and wanting him and just -

Being with him.

-

Well, so much for brunch. Finn eats almost all of the cinnamon rolls Kurt made, leaving them with the tea, and then has the balls to ask Kurt if he’ll make them for his and Rachel’s wedding reception.

Which they haven’t stopped talking about, either of them, for months now, and he just wants them to shut up about it for once.

Except then he looks at Kurt, and the way that he loves him can’t ever be described, can’t ever be put into words, so he thinks if he were getting married to Kurt then he’d never stop talking about it either, because he’d never be able to sum up exactly how that feels.

Too bad that’ll never happen.

In the end he’s thankful for Finn, because Kurt says, “If you promise not to tell my dad I promise to make your damn rolls.”

Finn and Blaine both look at each other, about to ask ‘promise not to tell what?’ when Kurt grabs Blaine’s hand, takes him upstairs and closes the bedroom door, which is supposed to stay open if Burt isn’t home.

All they do is make-out, kiss and put their hands _somewhere_ on each other and that’s more than enough, he lasts about seven minutes before he has to pull away, cool off, calm down.

He thinks about what they might do eventually, how much closer they can be, and it’s another thing to look forward to, however long it takes.

When Kurt says goodbye to him, with his hand on Blaine’s side and Blaine’s hands on his face, with a kiss that never seems to end because they’re never any good at saying goodbye, Blaine thinks of something else to look forward to.

If he believes hard enough, hopes and prays hard enough.

The rest of forever.

Maybe.

-

Monday’s suck. He’s tired for the first half of the day, loaded up with dread for the rest of it once he realizes he still has four days left to go.

Monday’s suck even more when Kurt texts him after lunch _skipping glee club today, have to go home and rehearse for the audition._

Kurt’s been missing practice every now and then, so he doesn’t think anything of it, just goes to the choir room and sits in the back and glares, tries not to pout, wonders if Kurt will ask him to come over later.

Tuesdays aren’t as bad as Monday’s. He sees Kurt and asks him how rehearsing went. Kurt responds with a cold and clipped, “Fine.” before leaving for class.

The thing is, once you see somebody, you can never unsee them. So he knows something is wrong after that. But he doesn’t dwell on it, stays optimistic because Kurt makes him optimistic, and looks forward to lunch because that’s a full hour with his boyfriend.

Kurt doesn’t touch his food, doesn’t put up a fight when Blaine steals too many french fries, eventually just shoves the whole tray his way and doesn’t say a word about it.

Wednesday Kurt stays close to him. Their classes are on opposite sides of the school, but he can read Kurt without Kurt having to say anything, so he walks him to his math class and gives him a smile, hopes for one back.

And Kurt does, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and his eyes don’t quite meet Blaine’s.

So something is wrong, but if Kurt won’t tell him then he won’t force it out. Kurt will tell him when he’s ready, right? Something to look forward to.

-

Wrong.

Not just something, but _everything_.

A few days ago, just this past Sunday, everything was right and everything was hopeful and he didn’t care about anything else, but now it’s all wrong.

They drove to school separately because Kurt was running late, so after school he has to say bye to him in the parking lot. He moves in to kiss him, nobody else around, blood settling calm in his veins once they’re close.

But Kurt pushes him back, hands landing firmly on his chest, a gentle shove until Blaine steps a good three feet away.

That hurts, that cuts, that bleeds.

He stands there confused but shrugs it off, doesn’t care, looks at Kurt who’s now looking off to the side, arms crossed.

“What’s up your ass?” he asks, crossing his own arms.

Kurt snaps his head around to glare at him, then around him, as if indicating towards an audience. “We’re at school, Blaine, we can’t - we - I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The coldness of Kurt’s voice imprints on his skin, leaves him freezing. He wants to shout after him _when are you going to tell me what’s wrong?_ but his pride has just been shoved, he’s too cold to care.

Nothing to look forward to once he gets home. He sits in his car, feels suddenly hopeless, for the first time in months. Nothing to look forward to, nothing to hold on to. He thinks about texting Kurt or calling him before he goes inside, needs a familiar voice to fill up the emptiness of all those rooms, but he doesn’t.

Should probably start handling things on his own. Kurt seems to be. Kurt doesn’t need him. He shouldn’t need Kurt.

-

Over one week.

It’s Monday again. They haven’t kissed in over a week. It’s not even the absence of kissing that kills him, it’s the absence of being allowed to. Kurt feels a million miles away, even when he stands right next to him.

It’s his stupid pride that’s preventing him from asking. He lays out his whole heart for Kurt to see, all his problems, all his issues that can’t be fixed, lets Kurt see them and know about them and lets him try to help in whatever way Kurt can help. But if Kurt won’t do the same for him, he won’t make him, he won’t pry, because if Kurt isn’t telling him then maybe it’s because he already knows Blaine is useless.

It’s fine.

Except nobody else seems to notice. And if Kurt needs help and there’s nobody else to give it to him, what’s Kurt going to do?

That worries him.

At lunch Rachel goes over five different topics in the span of two minutes, and when she realizes Kurt isn’t listening, she tugs at his arm and inquires about prom again, reminds him that their NYADA auditions are two weeks away, asks another question about prom and then Nationals and Kurt finally holds his hand out and snaps, “Stop!”

Everyone at the table looks at him, like they’re just now realizing Kurt’s there, and that he can actually speak.

“I - I can’t do this,” Kurt says breathlessly, and gets up, quickly leaves the cafeteria.

Is Blaine the only one to notice or the only one to care?

He follows him, hoping that Kurt wants him to follow him, praying to god that he doesn’t get sent away because he doesn’t think he could make himself leave.

Kurt didn’t go far. He finds him in the nearest hallway, leaning against a wall and taking deep breaths and Blaine’s never seen him like this before, never seen him so shaken.

“Hey,” he says before he gets anywhere near him, approaching him slowly. “Are you alright?”

Kurt shakes his head as he turns around, closes his eyes and swallows, voice coming out dry. “I’m - I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

He gets closer, close enough to reach his hand out and take his, hold his, never let it go. “Are you sure?”

Kurt squeezes back and lets his breath out again, says tightly, “I’m just - stressed.”

A small admission, but it’s an admission he’ll take. “About your audition?”

“Along with every other thing going wrong in the world, yes.”

“Don’t get mad at me,” he snaps back, tugging Kurt’s hand. “I’m just trying to help.”

Kurt takes his hand away and Blaine doesn’t fight him, inhales deep and shudders out, “I’m - I’m sorry. There’s less than two months left of school and it’s all coming down on my shoulders right now.”

“Well that’s what I’m here for.” He puts his hands on Kurt’s waist, steps closer and pulls his body inwards, and the brief few seconds of being that close make his heart bounce and smack against the floor. “To help.”

Kurt laughs, a little sadly, and shakes his head, whispers, “. . . but there’s nothing to help me with.”

That he doesn’t understand. That has his heart beating quicker, faster, more panicked.

“Kurt -”

Kurt pulls away and shakes his head again, says quickly, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before he can even think of reaching out, Kurt walks away, down the hall, farther and farther away from him.

He keeps saying tomorrow.

That’s beginning to feel like it’s becoming less and less true.

-

Two missed calls. Both from Kurt. Three minutes apart.

It’s not even noon yet, Kurt would never call him during class, which means he’s not _in_ class, which means Blaine has something to worry about.

Kurt doesn’t answer his calls back, which tears and twists at his stomach, and he’s not at his locker or Blaine’s locker and he’s not in the choir room or by the staircase or in the parking lot and the bell rings for class to begin but he keeps searching for Kurt because two missed calls is never a good thing.

His phone goes off, just a text, just a few words. _Boy’s bathroom by my locker._

He starts walking quickly, then breaks out into a run and pushes through the doors.

“Kurt -” he gasps, out of breath, his footsteps and his laboured breathing and the sound of running water the only noises in the otherwise silent room. “What - what the hell?”

Kurt stands over the sink, running his fingers through his hair continuously, and there’s purple and red ice running down his neck, his shoulders, his back.

He forgets that maybe he should be hesitant, forgets that there’s an invisible barrier between them and steps in and breaks it, gets too close to him and spins him around.

“Kurt!” he yells, doesn’t mean to yell, but Kurt is soaked, his shirt is drenched, his bag and his waistcoat are laying in a heap on the floor. “Jesus christ -”

Kurt is shaking, hair sticking to his forehead, and he wrenches himself out of Blaine’s grip and turns, starts splashing his face with more water.

“Don’t ask, just take me home.”

“Kurt -” A million thoughts enter and exit his head. One sticks. One thought resonates throughout his whole body and takes control over everything. “I’m - I’m gonna kill them, Kurt, all of them I swear to god -”

He doesn’t even know who them is, could be anyone, could be everyone _he’ll kill them -_

Kurt quickly turns back around, eyes angry and red, red because they _hurt_ him with a stupid fucking slushie and that’s why Kurt called him twice, he needed help and _he wasn’t there._

“Blaine, can you please -” His voice comes out choked, hurt, angry, and then he crumbles, rubs his palms into his eyes and shudders out his breath, sounding like a sob. “Just take me home.”

The singular thought leaves, replaced by another, by instinct, by his own basic need. Take Kurt and help him.

He nods, hands feeling useless as they grab at Kurt, pull him close, and he hates how relieved he feels when Kurt just falls into him.

He carries Kurt’s wet clothing and his bag, holds Kurt’s hand with the other and steps quick and smart to get them outside and in his car as soon as possible. The school’s gonna tell his parents that he missed class, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if he never makes it back to McKinley ever again.

Kurt’s dad’s car isn’t there, nobody’s car is there. They both sit in the driveway in silence and Kurt’s house, usually so warm and inviting, stands there cold and threatening and so lonely looking.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he says, and his voice his holding back on something, too rough and hard and wet in his throat.

Kurt doesn’t look at him, just closes his eyes, lashes touching his sticky-wet skin. “Please.”

“Kurt.” Kurt still doesn’t look at him, so he says it more urgently, deeply, pleadingly as he lets his voice break, “Kurt, you need to - please tell me what’s going on.”

Still not looking at him, Kurt unbuckles his seatbelt, grabs his bag and opens the door, getting out, but he must be insane if he thinks Blaine won’t follow him. He jumps out of the car and goes after him, relieved when Kurt doesn’t tell him to go, relieved when Kurt puts up no protest as he follows him inside and up the stairs to his bedroom.

He closes the door behind him even though there’s no one else home, shutting out the rest of the world, all the noise, just him and Kurt contained inside a few walls.

“Kurt,” he says, still urgent, but now a bit more patient.

Urgent because he’s panicking, patient because he knows Kurt’s panicking even more.

Kurt says nothing, goes to his closet and unbuttons the rest of his shirt, drops it to the ground and peels off his undershirt, and Blaine quickly turns around, feeling like he shouldn’t be looking anymore.

He sits on Kurt’s bed, made up neatly, comforter tucked tightly and pillows propped up, his Rudolph stuffie laying against them.

What does he say? What does he do how does he help him? He doesn’t know he doesn’t even know what he feels or what he should feel -

“When were you going to tell me?” he asks, softly, looking down at his hands.

There’s the rustle of clothing, the sound of the closet door opening and closing, and then Kurt’s heavy voice saying, “You already knew.”

He jerks his head up and meets Kurt’s cold eyes. “But it’s been getting worse, hasn’t it?”

Kurt breaks his gaze, shakes his head as he trudges across the room to where his vanity is tucked in the corner, sits down and starts looking amongst the bottles and vials and containers until he grabs a face wipe. “I’ve been getting a slushie facial ever since I was fourteen. It’s always been this way.”

He gets up and crawls across the bed until he’s facing Kurt again, swings his legs over the side and looks at him, struggles to find the right words, words that are warm enough to melt Kurt’s ice.

“But the past week you’ve been so - you’ve been scaring me, Kurt.”

For one second, maybe two, Kurt freezes, looks at Blaine hard, and he can’t read the look in his eyes or what the press of his lips means until -

It’s too late, and Kurt breaks, ice shatters, and he curves over and looks down at his lap, throat rasping as he says quietly, “There’s less than two months of high school left, Blaine . . . they’re running out of time to do it.”

He sounds nothing like Kurt. Beaten down and broken and _not like Kurt,_ who sounded like the strongest person in the world just a couple of weeks ago. And he doesn’t look like Kurt either, not with his hair pressed flat and his skin blotchy, red, looking so small wrapped up in his robe, his eyes hollow.

For another second, maybe two, he stays calm, thinks, tries to be rational.

But Kurt isn’t supposed to look so weak, and he can’t stop from feeling _livid_ , because there’s a human being walking around out there who made him feel like this. Who tried to make him feel weak.

And they succeeded.

“How are they getting away with this?” he snaps, stands up, doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he fists them in his hair. “Who - who is it? I want names, Kurt and - fuck, who - how come nobody’s done anything how are they still -”

Kurt stays quiet, not flinching or moving even when Blaine shouts.

“Nobody can stop them, so nobody tries. Not that hard to figure out, Blaine.”

He’s too mad, was rational for too long and now he’s just mad, and hurt, because Kurt looks so weak and he’s been standing here letting it happen for who knows how goddamn long?

He yells, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kurt looks up, eyes hard as he meets Blaine’s, mouth set in a firm line. “I knew you’d be mad.”

“And you’re not?”

“I am mad,” Kurt says, sounding less calm and quiet, almost as urgent as Blaine. “I’ve always been mad, but - I can’t do anything about it, Blaine!”

“Screw that!” he snaps, pulls his hair again, turns in a frustrated circle because his rage can’t go anywhere he doesn’t know what to do - “I can do something. I’m not going to just - let them hurt you. You should have told me -”

“Hurting them back won’t make things better, it’ll only make them worse.” Kurt turns fully towards him, eyes sharp, so sharp they cut and sink into Blaine’s skin and he can feel the venom of Kurt’s voice poisoning him. “I’ve - believe me when I say there isn’t a solution.”

“Staying silent is going to kill you.”

“I’ve been dealing with this a lot longer than you’ve been around I’ll be fine -”

“Fine? Look in the mirror Kurt, you’re not fine -”

“Alright!” Kurt’s voice is so shrill it could almost be a scream, eyes wide and face even more red. “I’m not fine, I know that, I don’t need you telling me how I feel! Look, graduation is just around the corner, I’m almost there. I’ll _be_ fine.”

He’s still stuck on the fact that there are actual living breathing humans out there with the capability to make somebody feel so small, so broken, and he’s here doing nothing to stop them.

“They can’t get away with this though.”

“I don’t care what happens to them,” Kurt says, sighs, turns back to his vanity and finishes wiping off his face. “They’ll go on to live a life of failure, most likely. It’s none of my concern. I’ll be fine.”

He feels so -

Useless. What’s the point in having hands if you don’t use them to help and fix and make things better for the person you’re so fucking in love with that it makes your head hurt? What’s the point in having someone’s trust if you can’t keep them protected?

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t - push me away when I try to get close, you would let me help,” he says, slowly, thinking each word individually before he says them. He thinks back to Kurt physically shoving him away, putting distance between them because of _somebody else_ , and that is not fine, not when he _needs_ Kurt close. “You would let me kiss you, you would - unless you’re scared of me too I don’t understand why you won’t let me touch you -”

Kurt stands up so fast it makes Blaine jolt, suddenly right in front of him, no longer looking weak and afraid but instead angry and terrifying. And it is incredibly, incredibly scary, how two people can read the same situation completely different, because Kurt shouts, “Is that why you’re mad? Because I won’t - _put out_ for you?”

“What?” He takes a step back, hands up in surrender, or maybe supplication. “Kurt -”

“I’m sorry if my values are an inconvenience to you, but it’s hard to feel intimate when there’s a million other priorities piled on top of you -”

“What -” He feels useless useless useless, his hands are just there, can’t even hold onto Kurt’s, his brain not working the way it really should be, all his instincts failing him. “No, no, I don’t care about - I just want you safe holy shit is that so much to ask for I want you to get help this isn’t okay -”

“There’s nothing that can help me, Blaine, why is this so hard for you to understand?”

“Why are you so defensive, you aren’t even trying!”

He stares at Kurt, who he’s in love with, who he thinks about constantly, every day, from morning until night and then sometimes in his dreams if he’s lucky, because when you love somebody they’re just there in every thought, without you ever having to try. And he fell in love with him for who knows why, there can’t be a scientific reason, it was just like he was meant to, but the person standing in front of him is not speaking like the person he fell in love with, he does not sound like the person he fell in love with, _he does not sound like Kurt._

Because Kurt fights and Kurt tries and Kurt is so much better than him and it’s frustrating that somebody who holds themselves so high can so easily drop, all because they don’t _see_.

Kurt who tells Blaine to see what he sees, but he can’t even see himself, and how is Blaine supposed to trust somebody who’s so goddamn blind?

“Why can’t you just let it go?” Kurt asks, and he says it in a way that sounds like he’s really asking why nobody else ever held on.

He shrugs, gasps a bit, wet and sad and pathetic in his throat, not understanding the mind of Kurt Hummel, scared because he wants to help but Kurt’s making it feel like there really, truly isn’t any way that he can.

“For somebody so strong-headed, you’d think you’d stand up for yourself for once.”

Because now that he thinks about it, Kurt’s brave and Kurt’s strong and Kurt walks like he owns the entire world but he’s watched people tell Kurt _no_ too many times now, and he’s watched Kurt duck his head and accept that.

And he can’t figure out why.

Kurt turns his whole body away from Blaine, and the shield is invisible but Blaine feels it press against him, like cold iron, impenetrable and solid.

He can still hear Kurt, breathing a little funny, hiccupy gasps, his hand clenching hard around the edge of his vanity.

“I think - I need you to leave,” Kurt says, airily, not a command or an order or even a question, just the opposite of what Blaine needs to hear.

He needs to stay, but if Kurt doesn’t want him or his help or his useless fucking hands then -

“Fine,” he says roughly, low, and stares at Kurt’s curved back, his shoulders which he holds so carefully, like he’s trying not to shake. “Not gonna stay in any place I’m not needed.”

Once he’s out of Kurt’s room he feels the smash cold reality of the rest of the world, the real world, the world that he can’t really navigate by himself. He bounds down the steps, opens the front door and slams it behind him and tries to breathe and think and live, because he hasn’t had to live without Kurt in a very long time and it grabs hold of his heart and crushes it, but he’s going to have to learn.

It’s once he’s in his car that he realizes he really can’t. His boyfriend’s up there in his room wiping off the remnants of torture, cleaning himself from the hurt of somebody else, and he’s here, getting mad over something he has no right to be mad at.

But he doesn’t go back up, because if Kurt says there’s no way he can help him, Blaine has to believe that.

-

Nothing to look forward to. Just - waking up and trying to think of what he’s supposed to feel, what he’s supposed to do. He feels like a limb has been severed off and it hasn’t quite registered that he has to find a way to cope without it, still tries to live like he has it.

Is Kurt just - gone? Do they go back to normal and pretend none of this happened? Because he knows he can’t do that, he knows he’ll look at Kurt and see his bruises and his pain and that he can’t help him and that’s all he’ll be able to focus on

So does he just let him go? Because he can’t do that either. Cut off all his limbs he wouldn’t care he can’t just live like Kurt was never in his life.

God this is just so frustrating, if Kurt would just ask him, would just let him, he could find a way, _they_ could find a way. He doesn’t deserve this.

That’s what it all comes down to. He’s only been a part of Kurt’s life for a few months, he should technically know him the least out of everybody, he’s missed more than three years of his high school life so he doesn’t know what happened to him before he got here. He just knows it’s been going on for too long, that nobody’s done anything about it, and that as strong as Kurt seems to be, he’s everything right in this entire world and doesn’t deserve to be hurt.

Like he thinks he does.

Is that why he won’t ask for help? He thinks he -

Deserves this?

His parents don’t bother him about missing class. It’s cooled down since the dinner disaster, they’ve moved onto another problem, Cooper, who _was_ in town to ask for money. It won’t be long until they’re back to him.

He goes to school. He can’t stop from looking around, wondering who it is that Kurt’s talking about. It’s somebody in this school, could be many somebody’s. He has a feeling who, or what, because Kurt’s mentioned the football team but Finn and Puck are on the football team, so wouldn’t they do something about this?

He swings by Ms. Pillsbury’s office before lunch starts, asks to talk to her for a few seconds, because she understands, she helps him, maybe she can help Kurt too, maybe -

“There’s somebody in this school trying to hurt my boyfriend,” he says to his hands, clenching up tight, trying to stay calm. “I can’t be held liable if I end up killing them.”

Ms. Pillsbury doesn’t look shocked, a sad kind of understanding settling into her eyes, and Blaine’s never mentioned Kurt’s name to her before but it must be obvious who he’s talking about.

“I wish I could help you, Blaine,” she says back, sad and calm and like she’s said it a million times before. “But unless he speaks up for himself, unfortunately there’s nothing I’m permitted to do.”

He laughs dryly, rolls his head back to stare up at the ceiling, the white panels, tries not to see red.

“That’s the thing . . . he won’t.”

He almost understands why now.

-

The stage is a scary place. There’s so many seats in the auditorium, it’s hard for him to even walk along it without feeling like someone’s watching, even though the only other soul in the room is Kurt.

His footsteps echo off the floorboards, loud but not louder than the piano that Kurt’s playing, starting and then stopping and then starting again, Kurt singing out the same note over and over, sounding better every time.

He stands behind the piano bench, a little ways away, not wanting to scare him but it’s fascinating to just watch him, to listen.

“Rachel said you’d be in here,” he says, mumbling, not sure what to say because _hi_ doesn’t feel right.

Kurt takes his hands off the keys, looks over his shoulder at Blaine, not looking surprised or shocked, and then turns back, starts playing again. “Rachel was right.”

It’s not a _go away_ , so he steps closer, sits on the end side of the bench, as far away from Kurt as possible.

“You sound amazing.”

Kurt shakes his head, eyes staying on the keys, his long fingers moving from side to side. “I sound adequate. Rachel sounds amazing.”

“Bullshit.”

Kurt hums, not even glancing at him, attempts to start his song over again, not bothered at all by Blaine’s presence. He listens for a bit, pieces together some words in his head, the right thing to say, the wrong thing to say, what he should say and what he can’t say.

He can’t yell at Kurt, or tell him what to do, or what he should feel. All he can do is tell him what _he_ feels, what he wants, and hope that Kurt wants that back, and hope that he can be what Kurt needs.

“I talked to Ms. Pillsbury about you,” he says quietly, looking off towards all the empty seats.

The music stops abruptly, and he can feel Kurt’s gaze on the back of his head. Kurt says, even quieter, “You didn’t have to do that.”

He takes a deep breath, lets it shudder out, and turns back to Kurt, and he can feel how hopeless and helpless he must look, mouth stuck open as no words come out.

“I - I told her that my boyfriend is being hurt and - and that there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Kurt holds his gaze, swallows and asks, “What did she say?”

“That there’s nothing she can do about it.”

Kurt looks away then. “Not a surprise.”

“Unless you speak up for yourself.”

Kurt starts playing again, shoulders back and spine straight, says below the music, “I can’t do that, Blaine.”

“Look,” he says, shouts maybe, suddenly panicked and suddenly scared and madder than he should be. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, Kurt, but I’m - I’m worried, okay? You can’t blame me for that.”

“I don’t.”

“So why don’t you at least fucking try?”

Kurt continues to play, like Blaine’s voice just isn’t sinking in, like he can’t even hear him, so Blaine reaches out and puts his hands over his wrists, the music quickly dying out.

Kurt doesn’t flinch, just keeps his hands still under Blaine’s, and then says, “The same reason you don’t. There’s no point.”

Before he even registers what Kurt’s saying he pulls his hands away.

And then he does register it, and then he gets even madder, because their situations are different, Kurt doesn’t _deserve_ this -

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Kurt -”

“I can handle a slushie to the face Blaine it’s been four years -”

“But what if they do something worse?” His blood runs cold at the thought. Lockers are hard, Kurt gets bruised so easily, it wouldn’t take much to hurt him, would be so easy to injure and break him, and he hopes Kurt wouldn’t let that happen but it sounds like he would, so they could. “They can - you’re going to get hurt. Like, really fucking badly.”

He feels his whole body vibrating, heart and stomach throbbing, fear and panic and every bad feeling taking over every cell in his body, but Kurt sits there cold and calm.

“I almost want them to. Maybe then somebody could actually do something to stop them.”

And Kurt sounds as close to pleading as he’s sounded in weeks, almost like he’s asking for help without actually saying it.

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t think I’ve asked for help before?” Kurt says sharply, angry but not like he’s angry at Blaine. “Do I really seem like the kind of person who just - lets this happen?”

His mouth stays open, sounds coming out but not words.

“I’ve tried, Blaine. I’ve told Mr. Schue. I’ve told my dad. We went to Figgins and told him what was happening and do you know what they did?”

His throat is too hard, mouth too dry, nothing comes out but a scratchy, low, “What?”

“Nothing. They tried putting them in with the glee club, they tried making us friends, they tried suspending them and giving them detention but - none of it worked, nothing changed. Not permanently.”

“Who’s them?”

Kurt sucks in a gasp, chest held tight, and doesn’t let it out until he looks away from Blaine.

“It’s not that hard to guess, Blaine,” Kurt says, throat catching, and Blaine feels a signal go off in his head, to slide closer along the bench so he can put a hand on Kurt’s thigh.

“But what did you ever do to them?”

Kurt laughs, muscles going tense under Blaine’s hand. “I exist.”

He wants to kiss the ground and shout to the stars and pray to every god out there that Kurt exists, he can’t believe somebody would want to hurt him for that. So he puts an arm around his waist, pulls him against him, as close as Kurt will allow him, kisses the side of his neck and breathes there.

“You don’t even know how grateful I am for that.”

Kurt slowly turns towards him, leg bumping his, taking his hand and curling his fingers tight around Blaine’s, like he’s finally needing him, finally letting himself need Blaine.

“I just have to accept it. Either nobody knows what to do, or nobody really cares. I’ve accepted it. It’s - it’s okay.”

How bad he wants to prove that’s not true, grab Kurt’s hands and pull him even closer and shout at him that he cares, that he’ll figure out what to do. Why won’t anybody try harder for him? How is he the first person to want to try harder for him? He thinks of all those days in the choir room, Kurt’s hand going up only to be shot back down, his loud and beautiful and powerful voice being completely and entirely ignored, forcing Kurt to remain silent. That must wear on a person.

Either Kurt’s chipped away and seconds from breaking, or he’s already broken and just pretending. He doesn’t know which is worse.

“I’m here now. I know that's not really a solution, but . . .” He understands that now, three years is a long time for things to happen, for damage to be done, but he’s here now he’s here now he won’t leave not like everyone else _never_. “I can just . . . do for you what you do for me.”

Make things better just by being there. That’s what Kurt does for him.

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand before he tries to pull it away, but Blaine holds on tighter.

“I can’t, Blaine,” Kurt says firmly, biting over his lip. “I need - I need somebody who’s on my side but - I can’t be that selfish.”

“What?” He barks out his laugh, scared and anxious and not understanding. “How is that selfish?”

“Everyone’s busy with graduation and Nationals and their own lives. I can survive this on my own I can’t - ask people to put their lives on hold for mine when - when I can’t fix this. Asking for help again would be selfish. There is no - there’s no solution.”

He swings Kurt’s hand a little, pulls it closer to him. “I’m on your side.”

“And you don’t understand how much I want to believe that,” Kurt says, eyes closing, hand flexing in Blaine’s hold. “But you have your own problems, you need help too, I can’t ask -”

“Screw my problems, Kurt! They’ve always been like that, they always will be. I’ll be fine, but you -” Maybe Kurt will be fine, it’s just a few weeks left of school. Maybe he’ll make it out of this and survive and do great things, he doesn’t doubt him, but Kurt doesn’t deserve this, and Blaine just wishes he could see that. “I’m here now. I don’t know how you’ve made it this far on your own.”

Kurt’s smile comes slow, no ice or hardness to it. Taking his hand out of Blaine’s, he turns back to the piano and starts playing again, little notes that don’t really make up a song, soft and sweet as his smile.

“By dreaming,” Kurt says, arm brushing past Blaine as he moves down the keys. “Waiting for something better to come along.”

Blaine smiles too, puts his hand back on Kurt’s leg and presses their sides together, just listens to Kurt play.

“Dunno if I’m something better, but I can try to be.”

“You already are,” Kurt says, taking his hands off the piano, laying one on the side of Blaine’s face, and he wants him to kiss him, but Kurt just looks. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I didn’t - I really didn’t mean to.”

He presses his face into Kurt’s hand, uses his to twist and grab at the fabric of Kurt’s shirt.

Afraid to admit just how worried he was, but maybe if he does, Kurt will get it, Kurt will see.

“You have no fucking idea,” he says quietly, closes his eyes and leans forward, tilting his head against Kurt’s. “God Kurt, I thought maybe - not getting to touch you or kiss you or be near you - like maybe you didn’t need me and I - I need you so -”

“I do.” Kurt says it so firmly, so surely, but also like he’s scared, scared like Blaine is, over how powerful that need is. “It’s just - hard for me to believe you’re real sometimes.”

He laughs soft and shakily against Kurt’s skin, presses a kiss to his temple. “I could say the same thing about you.”

They pull back a little, but Kurt’s hand stays near his face, finding a curl and twisting it around his finger. “You really don’t understand . . .” he mumbles, eyes lost somewhere on Blaine’s face.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t think he needs to.

He glances at the sheet music propped up on the piano, back to Kurt and smiles. “And you’re going to kill your audition. Rachel’s amazing, sure, but you’re better.”

Kurt laughs a bit nervously and tips his head down. “I hope so,” he sighs, slowly takes his hands away and places them back over the keys. “I need to get into this school and I need to go to New York and I need . . . to escape.”

He nods, not sure why he’s nodding, Kurt’s not even looking at him.

He wishes he had some kind of escape, and he wishes he could give Kurt one. All he can do is hold his hand if Kurt wants, be there if Kurt needs him, and show him and prove to him that he’s so much more than what they think he is.

He’s the only one who notices Kurt. He thinks he gets what that means to him now.

“Here,” he says, scooting Kurt over, pushing his hands away. “Let me.”

Kurt freezes, looking from Blaine’s hands to the sheet music in front of him, eyebrows pinched together and eyes confused. “You play?”

“Used to,” he mumbles, shrugging, then tests out a few keys. It’s not something he could ever forget how to do, not when he spent hours a day being forced to learn. “Had to take lessons until I scared away my teacher. I’ll play. You sing.”

He can’t give Kurt an escape. Nobody can do that but him. But he can help play a part of it.

Kurt continues to stare at him, maybe shocked, maybe transfixed, until he gives a short little nod, and lets his breath out.

“Thank you.”


End file.
